TWENTY DAYS WITH JULIAN 
AND LITTLE BUNNY 

HAWTHORNE 



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TWENTY DAYS WITH JULIAN 
AND LITTLE BUNNY 



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TWENTY DAYS WITH JULIAN 
AND LITTLE BUNNY 



A DIARY 



BY 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 



NOW FIRST PRINTED FROM THE 
ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT 



NEW YORK 

PRIVATELY PRINTED 

1904 



Copyright, 1904, by 
S. H. Wakeman 



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TWENTY DAYS WITH JULIAN 
AND LITTLE BUNNY 

BY PAPA 



July 2Sthj, 1851. Monday. Lenox. 
At seven o'clock a. m., wife, E.P.P., Una, and 
Rosebud took their departure, leaving Julian 
and me in possession of the Red Shanty. The 
first observation which the old gentleman made 
thereupon was,— "Papa, isn't it nice to have 
baby gone?" His perfect confidence in my 
sympathy in this feeling was very queer. " Why 
is it nice?" I inquired. "Because now I can 
shout and squeal just as loud as I please!" an- 
swered he. And for the next half hour he ex- 
ercised his lungs to his heart's content, and almost 
split the welkin thereby. Then he hammered on 
an empty box, and appeared to have high enjoy- 
ment of the racket which he created. In the 
course of the forenoon, however, he fell into a 
deep reverie and looked very pensive. I asked 
him what he was thinking of, and he said, " Oh, 
about mamma's going away. I do not like to be 

[ 'T ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

away from her;" — and then he romanticized 
about getting horses and galloping after her. 
He declared, likewise, that he likes Una, and that 
she never troubled him. 

I hardly know how we got through the fore- 
noon. It is impossible to write, read, think, or 
even sleep (in the daytime), so constant are his 
appeals in one way or another; still he is such a 
genial and good-humored little man that there 
is certainly an enjoyment intermixed with all the 
annoyance. 

In the afternoon we walked down to the lake, 
and amused ourselves with flinging in stones, 
until the gathering clouds warned us homeward. 
In the wood, midway home, a shower overtook 
us; and we sat on an old decayed log, while the 
drops pattered plentifully on the trees overhead. 
He enjoyed the shower, and favored me with a 
great many weather-wise remarks. It continued 
showery all the rest of the day; so that I do not 
recollect of his going out afterwards. 

For an in-door playmate, there was Bunny, 
who does not turn out to be a very interesting 
companion, and makes me more trouble than he 
is worth. There ought to be two rabbits, in order 
to bring out each other's remarkable qualities — 

[ 8 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

if any there be. Undoubtedly, they have the 
least feature and characteristic prominence of any 
creatures that God has made. With no playful- 
ness, as silent as a fish, inactive, Bunny's life 
passes between a torpid half -slumber and the 
nibbling of clover tops, lettuce, plantain leaves, 
pig-weed, and crumbs of bread. Sometimes, in- 
deed, he is seized with a little impulse of friski- 
ness; but it does not appear to be sportive, but 
nervous. Bunny has a singular countenance — 
like somebody's I have seen, but whose I forget. 
It is rather imposing and aristocratic, at a cur- 
sory glance; but examining it more closely, it is 
found to be laughably vague. Julian pays him 
very little attention now, and leaves me to gather 
leaves for him, else the poor little beast would be 
likely to starve. I am strongly tempted of the 
Evil One to murder him privately, and I wish 
with all my heart that Mrs. Peters would drown 
him. 

JuHan had a great resource, to-day, in my 
jack-knife, which, being fortunately as dull as a 
hoe, I have given him to whittle with. So he 
made what he called a boat, and has declared his 
purpose to make a tooth-pick for his mother, him- 
self, Una, and me. He covered the floor of the 

[ 9 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

boudoir with chips, twice over, and finds such in- 
exhaustible amusement that I think it would be 
cheaply bought with the loss of one or two of his 
fingers. 

At about half-past six I put him to bed, and 
walked to the Post Office, where I found a letter 
from Mrs. Mann to Phoebe. I made no stay, 
and reached home, through a shower, at about 
eight. Went to bed without any supper — having 
nothing to eat but half-baked, sour bread. 

July 29th. Tuesday. 
Got up at six ; — a cool breezy morning, with sun- 
shine glimpsing through sullen clouds, which 
seemed to hang low and rest on the edges of the 
hills that border the valley. I bathed, and then 
called Julian, who, by the by, was awake and 
summoning me, sometime before I was ready to 
receive him. He went with me for the milk, and 
frisked and capered along the road in a way that 
proved him to be in a good physical condition. 
After breakfast, he immediately demanded the 
jack-knife, and proceeded to manufacture the 
tooth-picks. When the dew was off, we w^ent 
out to the barn and thence to the garden ; and, in 
one way or another, half got through the fore- 

[ 10 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

noon until half -past ten, which is the present time 
of day. 

Afterwards, he betook himself to playing bat 
and ball with huge racket and uproar about the 
room, fehcitating himself continually on the li- 
cense of making what noise he pleased, in the 
absence of baby. He enjoys this freedom so 
greatly, that I do not mean to restrain him, what- 
ever noise he makes. 

Then we took Bunny out into the open air, 
and put him down on the grass. Bunny appears 
to most advantage out of doors. His most inter- 
esting trait is the apprehensiveness of his nature ; 
it is as quick and as continually in movement as 
an aspen leaf. The least noise startles him, and 
you may see his emotion in the movement of his 
ears ; he starts and scrambles into his little house ; 
but, in a moment, peeps forth again, and begins 
nibbling the grass and weeds; — again to be 
startled, and as quickly reassured. Sometimes 
he sets out on a nimble little run, for no reason, but 
just as a dry leaf is blown along by a puif of 
wind. I do not think that these fears are any 
considerable torment to Bunny; it is his nature 
to live in the midst of them, and to intermingle 
them, as a sort of piquant sauce, with every mor- 

[ 11 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

sel he eats. It is what redeems his life from dull- 
ness and stagnation. Bunny appears to be un- 
easy in broad and open sunshine ; it is his impulse 
to seek shadow — the shadow of a tuft of bushes, 
or Julian's shadow, or mine. He seemed to think 
himself in rather too much peril, so important a 
personage as he is, in the breadth of the yard, and 
took various opportunities to creep into Julian's 
lap. At last, the north-west breeze being cool to- 
day—too cool for me, especially when one of the 
thousand watery clouds intercepted the sun — we 
all three came in. This is a horrible, horrible, 
most hor-ri-ble climate; one knows not, for ten 
minutes together, whether he is too cool or too 
warm ; but he is always one or the other, and the 
constant result is a miserable disturbance of the 
system. I detest it I I detest it! I I detest iti ! ! 
I hate Berkshire with my whole soul, and would 
joyfully see its mountains laid flat. Luther and 
old Mr. Barnes speak as if this weather were 
something unusual. It may be so, but I rather 
conceive that a variable state of the atmosphere 
in summer time is incident to a country of hills, 
and always to be expected. At any rate, be it re- 
corded that here, where I hoped for perfect 
health, I have for the first time been made sen- 

[ 12 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

sible that I cannot with impunity encounter Na- 
ture in all her moods. 

Since we came in, Julian has again betaken 
himself to that blessed jack-knife, and is now 
"chipping and tharpening," as he calls it, and 
hammering, and talking to himself about his 
plans and performances, with great content. 

After dinner (roast lamb for me, and boiled 
rice for Julian) we walked down to the lake. On 
our way we waged war with thistles, which repre- 
sented many -headed dragons and hydras, and on 
tall mulleins, which passed for giants. One of 
these latter offered such steady resistance that 
my stick was broken in the encounter, and so 
I cut it oiF of a length suitable to Julian; there- 
upon he expressed an odd entanglement of sor- 
row for my loss and joy at his own gain. Ar- 
riving at the lake, he dug most persistently for 
worms, in order to catch a fish; but could find 
none. - Then we threw innumerable stones into 
the water, for the pleasure of seeing them splash ; 
also, I built a boat, with a scrap of newspaper 
for a sail, and sent it out on a voyage, and we 
could see the gleam of its sail long afterwards, 
far away over the lake. It was a most beautiful 
afternoon— autumnal in its character — with a 

[ 13 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

bright, warm, genial sunshine, but coohiess in 
the air, so that though it was rather beyond com- 
fort to sit in the sun, I felt compelled to return 
to it after a brief experience of the shade. The 
heavy masses of cloud, lumbering about the sky, 
threw deep black shadows on the sunny hill-sides ; 
so that the contrast between the heat and coolness 
of the day was visibly expressed. The atmo- 
sphere was particularly transparent, as if all the 
haze was collected into these dense clouds. Dis- 
tant objects appeared with great distinctness, and 
the Taconic range of hills was a dark blue sub- 
stance, with its protuberances and irregularities 
apparent — not cloudlike, as it often is. The sun 
smiled wdth mellow breadth across the rippling 
lake — rippling with the north-western breeze. 

On our way home, we renewed our warfare 
with the thistles ; and they suffered terribly in the 
combat. Julian has a real spirit of battle in him, 
and puts his soul into his blows. Immediately 
after our return, he called for the jack-knife, and 
now keeps pestering me to look at the feats which 
he performs with it. Blessed be the man who in- 
vented jack-knives. 

Next we went out and gathered some currants. 
He babbles continually, throughout aU these 

[ 14 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

various doings, and often says odd things, which 
I either forget, or cannot possibly grasp them so 
as to write them down. Among other things, 
during the current gathering, he speculated about 
rainbows, and asked why they were not called 
sun-bows, or sun-rain-bows ; and said that he sup- 
posed their bowstrings were made of cobwebs; 
which was the reason why they could not be seen. 
Some of the time, I hear him repeating poetry, 
with good emphasis and intonation. He is never 
out of temper or out of spirits, and is certainly 
as happy as the day is long. He is happy enough 
by himself, and when I sympathize or partake in 
his play, it is almost too much, and he nearly ex- 
plodes with laughter and delight. 

Little Marshall Butler has just been in to in- 
quire whether "the bird" has come yet. I am 
afraid we shall be favored with visits every day 
till it comes. I do wish the original parrot had 
been given him, whatever its defects, for I have 
seldom suffered more from the presence of any 
individual than from that of this odious little 
urchin. Julian took no more notice of him than 
if he had not been present, but went on with his 
talk and occupations, displaying an equanimity 
which I could not but envy. He absolutely ig- 

[ 15 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

nores him; no practised man of the world could 
do it better, or half so well. After prying about 
the room and examining the playthings, Marshall 
took himself off. 

At about eight, Mrs. Tappan came in, bring- 
ing thi-ee newspapers and the first volume of 
"Pendennis." She seemed in very pleasant 
mood. I read the papers till ten, and then to bed. 

July SOth. Wednesday. 
Got up not much before seven. A chill and low- 
ery morning, with, I think, a south-east wind, 
threatening rain. Julian lounges about, lies on 
the floor, and seems in some degree responsive to 
the weather. I trust we are not going to be vis- 
ited with a long storm. 

The day is so unpropitious that we have taken 
no forenoon walk; but only idle about the barn 
and garden. Bunny has grown quite familiar, 
and comes hopping to meet us, whenever we enter 
the room, and stands on his hind legs, to see 
whether we have anything for him. Julian has 
changed his name (which was Spring) to Hind- 
legs. One finds himself getting rather attached 
to this gentle little beast, especially when he 
shows confidence, and makes himself at home. It 

[ 16 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

is rather troublesome, however, to find him food, 
for he seems to want to eat almost constantly, yet 
does not like his grass or leaves, unless they are 
entirely fresh. Bread he nibbles a little, but soon 
quits it. I have just got him some green oats 
from Mr. Tappan's field. Of all eatables, he 
seems to like Julian's shoes better than anything, 
and indulges himself with a taste of them on all 
possible occasions. 

At four o'clock I dressed him up, and we set 
out for the village ; he frisking and capering like 
a little goat, and gathering flowers like a child of 
Paradise. The flowers had not the least beauty in 
them, except what his eyes made by looking at 
them; nevertheless, he thought them the loveliest 
in the world. We met a carriage with three or 
four young ladies, all whom were evidently 
smitten by his potent charms. Indeed, he seldom 
passes [illegible] without carrying away her 
heart. It is very odd ; for I see no such wonder- 
ful magic in the young gentleman. 

Arriving at the Post Office, I found— greatly 
to my disappointment, for indeed I had not con- 
ceived the possibility— no letter from Phoebe, 
nor anything else for myself; nothing but a letter 
and paper for Mr. Tappan. So I put in a letter 

[ n ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

for Pike, which I wrote some days ago and had 
forgotten to send, and a brief letter for Phoebe, 
which I wrote to-day — and we immediately set 
out on our return. Ascending the hill on this 
side of Mr. Birch's, we met a wagon, in which sat 
Mr. James, his wife, and daughter, who had just 
left their cards at our house. Here ensued a talk, 
quite pleasant and friendly. He is certainly an 
excellent man, and his wife is a plain, good, 
friendly, kind-hearted woman, and the daughter 
a nice girl; nevertheless, Julian thought Mr. 
James rather tedious, and said that he did not 
like his talk at all. In fact, the poor little urchin 
was tired to death with standing. Mr. James 
spoke of the " Hoiise of the Seven Gables," and of 
" Twice-told Tales," and then branched off upon 
English literature generally. Reaching home, we 
found Julian's supper ready, and he has eaten it, 
and appears quite ready for bed— whither I shall 
now (at half -past six) consign him. 

I read "Pendennis" during the evening, and 
concluded the day with a bowl of egg-nog. 

July ^Ist. Thursday. 
At about six o'clock, I looked over the edge of 
my bed, and saw that Julian was awake, peeping 

[ 18 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

sideways at me out of his eyes, with a subdued 
laugh in them. So we got up, and jfirst I bathed 
him, and then myself, and afterwards I pro- 
posed to curl his hair. I forgot to say that I at- 
tempted the same thing, the morning before last, 
and succeeded miraculously ill; indeed, it was 
such a failure that the old boy burst into a laugh 
at the first hint of repeating the attempt. How- 
ever, I persisted, and screwed his hair round a 
stick, till I almost screwed it out of his head ; he 
all the time squealing and laughing, between 
pain and merriment. He endeavored to tell me 
how his mother proceeded; but his instructions 
were not very clear, and only entangled the busi- 
ness so much the more. But, now that his hair is 
dry, it does not look so badly as might have been 
expected. 

After thus operating on his wig, we went for 
the milk. It was another cloudy and lowery 
morning, with a cloud (which looked as full of 
moisture as a wet sponge) lying all along the 
ridge of the western hills, beneath which the 
wooded hillside looked black, grim and desolate. 
Monument Mountain, too, had a cloud on its 
back; but the sunshine gleamed along its sides, 
and made it quite a cheerful object; and being in 

[ 19 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

the centre of the scene, it cheered up the whole 
picture like a cheery heart. Even its forests, as 
contrasted with the woods on the other hills, had 
a light on them; and the cleared tracts seemed 
doubly sunny, and a field of rj^e, just at its best, 
shone out with yellow radiance, and quite illu- 
minated the landscape. As we walked along the 
little man munched a bread-cake, and talked about 
the " jeu" (as he pronounces it) on the grass, 
and said that he supposed fairies had been pour- 
ing it on the grass, and flowers, out of their little 
pitchers. Then he pestered me to tell him on 
which side of the road I thought the dewy grass 
looked prettiest. Thus, with all the time a babble 
at my side as if a brook were running along the 
way, we reached Luther's house ; and old Atropos 
took the pail, with a grim smile, and gave it back 
with two quarts of milk. 

The weather being chill, and the sun not con- 
stant or powerful enough to dry off the dew, we 
spent the greater part of the forenoon within 
doors. The old gentleman, as usual, bothered me 
with innumerable questions, and continual refer- 
ences as to all his occupations. 

After dinner, we took a walk to the lake. As 
we drew near the bank, we saw a boat a little way 

[ 20 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

off the shore ; and another approached the strand, 
and its crew landed, just afterwards. They were 
three men, of a loaf erish aspect. They asked me 
whether there was any good water near at hand; 
then they strolled inland, to view the country, as 
is the custom of voyagers on setting foot in for- 
eign parts. Thereupon, Julian went to their 
boat, which he viewed with great interest, and 
gave a great exclamation on discovering some 
fish in it. They were only a few bream and 
pouts. The little man wanted me to get into the 
boat and sail off with him; and he could hardly 
be got away from the spot. I made him a shingle 
skiff, and launched it, and it went away west- 
ward — the wind being east to-day. Then we 
made our way along the tangled lake-shore, and 
sitting down, he threw in bits of moss, and called 
them islands — floating green islands — and said 
that there were trees, and ferns, and men upon 
them. By and by, against his remonstrances, I 
insisted upon going home. He picked up a 
club, and began war again — the old warfare with 
the thistles — which we called hydras, chimaeras, 
dragons, and Gorgons. Thus we fought our 
way homeward; and so has passed the day, until 
now at twenty minutes past four. 

[ 21 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

In the earlier part of the summer, I thought 
that the landscape would suffer by the change 
from pure and rich verdure, after the pastures 
should turn yellow, and the fields be mowed. But 
I now think the change an improvement. The 
contrast between the faded green, and, here and 
there, the almost brown and dusky fields, as com- 
pared with the deep green of the woods, is very 
picturesque, on the hill-side. 

Before supper, Mrs. Tappan came in, with two 
or three volumes of Fourier's works, which I 
wished to borrow, with a view to my next ro- 
mance ["Blithedale"]. 

She proposed that Julian should come over and 
see Ellen to-morrow; to which I not unwillingly 
gave my assent, and the old gentleman, too, seemed 
pleased with the prospect. He has now had his 
supper, and is forthwith to be put to bed. Mrs. 
Peters, whose husband is sick or unwell (prob- 
ably drunk) , is going home to-night, and will re- 
turn in the morning. And now Julian is in bed, 
and I have gathered and crushed some currants, 
and have given Bunny his supper of lettuce, 
which he seems to like better than anything else; 
though nothing in the vegetable line comes amiss 
to him. He ate a leaf of mint to-day, seemingly 

[ 22 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

with great relish. It makes me smile to see how 
invariably he comes galloping to meet me, when- 
ever I open the door, making sure that there is 
something in store for him, and smelling eagerly 
to find out what it is. He eats enormously, and, 
I think, has grown considerably broader than 
when he came hither. The mystery that broods 
about him — the lack of any method of communi- 
cating with this voiceless creature — heightens the 
interest. Then he is naturally so full of little 
alarms, that it is pleasant to find him free of these, 
as to Julian and myself. 

August 1st. Friday. 
This was another chill and sulky day, so cool 
that I put a knit jacket on Julian when we went 
for the milk. There was a general conclave of 
clouds overhead, but interspersed with blue, and 
then partial gleams of watery sunshine. Monu- 
ment Mountain was in shadow this morning, and 
the western ridge had the sun on it. The atmo- 
sphere was particularly clear ; insomuch, that I do 
not recollect ever seeing Taconic bulge so prom- 
inently forth from its outline as it did now. It 
looked but a little further off than the Monu- 
ment. 

[ 23 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

Bruin ran along with us, much to Julian's de- 
light; but on our return, the dog began to caper 
and frisk somewhat obstreperously. 

It was so cheerless out of doors, that we spent 
the morning within. I was occupied with two 
letters (excruciatingly short ones) from Phoebe, 
and with papers, which Mrs. Peters brought from 
the Post Office. 

At about eleven came Deborah and little Ellen 
to take Julian to Highwood; so his majesty de- 
parted, and I saw nothing more of him till after 
dinner. I packed up and sent off Phoebe's sculp- 
turing tools, which JNIrs. Mann wants for some 
purpose or other. I trust Phoebe will not be per- 
suaded, among aU her other cares and annoyances, 
to undertake any alterations or modifications of 
his bust. If this had occurred to me sooner, I 
certainly should not have sent the tools. 

We had, to-day, the first string beans of the 
season; the earliest product of our garden, in- 
deed, except currants and lettuce. At three 
o'clock Julian came home. He said that he [had] 
had tomatoes, beans, and asparagus for dinner, 
and that he liked them very much, and had had a 
good time. I dressed him and myself for a walk 
to the village, and we set out at four. The mail 

[ M ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

not being in at our arrival, we went to Mr. Far- 
ley's office (where we saw him and Mr. Sedg- 
wick), and afterwards to Mr. Farley's house, or 
rather to his hen-coop, to see his splendid rooster 
and chickens. I gave Mr. Sedgwick to under- 
stand, by the by^ that we should take Mrs. Kem- 
ble's house for the autumn. Returning to the 
Post Office, I got Mr. Tappan's mail and my own, 
and proceeded homeward, but clambered over the 
fence and sat down in Love Grove to read the 
papers. 

While thus engaged, a cavalier on horseback 
came along the road, and saluted me in Spanish, 
to which I replied by touching my hat, and went 
on with the newspaper. But the cavalier renew- 
ing his salutation, I regarded him more atten- 
tively, and saw that it was Herman Melville! 
Thereupon, Julian and I hastened to the road, 
when ensued a greeting, and we all went home- 
ward together, talking as we went. Soon Mr. 
Melville alighted, and put Julian into the saddle ; 
and the little man was highly pleased, and sat on 
the horse with the freedom and fearlessness of an 
old equestrian, and had a ride of at least a mile 
homeward. 

I asked Mrs. Peters to make some tea for Her- 
[ 25 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

man Melville ; and so she did, and he drank a cup, 
but was afraid to drink much, because it would 
keep him awake. After supper, I put Julian to 
bed, and Melville and I had a talk about time and 
eternity, things of this world and of the next, and 
books, and publishers, and all possible and im- 
possible matters, that lasted pretty deep into the 
night. At last he arose and saddled his horse 
(which we had put into the barn) and rode off 
for his own domicile ; and I hastened to make the 
most of what little sleeping-time remained for 
me. 

August 2d. Saturday. 
In the morning we got up at about half -past six, 
and, Julian being bathed, and also myself, and 
Julian's wool duly frizzled, we set out for the 
milk. For the first time since some immemorial 
date, it was really a pleasant morning; not a 
cloud to be seen, except a few white and bright 
streaks, far off to the southward. Monument 
INIountain, however, had a fleece of sun-bright- 
ened mist, entirely covering it except its western 
summit, which emerged. There were also mists 
along the western side, hovering on the tree-tops, 
and portions of the same mist had flitted upward, 

[ 26 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

and become real clouds in the sky. These vapors 
were rapidly passing away; and by the time we 
had done our errand, and returned, they had 
wholly disappeared. 

I forgot to say, in the record of last night, 
that Herman Melville invited me to bring Julian 
and spend several days at his house, next week, 
when E. A. Duyckinck and his brother are to be 
there. I accepted for at least one night, and so 
Melville is to come for us. 

At ten o'clock I sent Julian over to High- 
wood with Bunny, whom he is going to offer as a 
present to Ellen. The truth is, our house is too 
small, and we have not the proper accommoda- 
tions for the excellent Bunny, for whom I have 
a great regard, but whose habits do not exactly 
fit him to be a constant occupant of the sitting- 
room. Our straw carpet was beginning to suffer 
seriously from some of his proceedings. At 
Highwood they can give him a room to himself, 
if they like — or, in short, do what they please with 
him. I really liked Bunny, who has very pleasant 
httle ways, and a character well worth observing. 
He had grown perfectly familiar with us, and 
seemed to show a fondness for our society, and 
would always sit himself near us, and was atten- 

[27 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

tive to all our motions. He has, I think, a great 
deal of curiosity, and an investigating disposi- 
tion, and is very observant of what is going on 
around him. I do not know any other beast, and 
few human beings, who, always present, and 
thrusting his little paw into all the business of the 
day, could at the same time be so perfectly unob- 
trusive. I cannot but regret his departure, both 
for our sakes and his own ; for I am afraid Ellen 
will squeeze and otherwise torment him, and that 
he will find nobody at Highwood so attentive to 
his habits as I was. What a pity that he could 
not have put himself under some restraint and 
rule, as to certain matters. Julian, too, seemed 
half -sorry to part with Bunny, but was so pleased 
with the idea of giving him to Ellen that he made 
no objection. He has not yet returned to say 
how the offering was accepted. 

Quarter of eleven, Julian has come back, and 
reports that they did not thank him for Bunny, 
and that Ellen began to squeeze him very hard 
the first minute. He saw Deborah and Caroline 
and Ellen. They did not understand, at first, 
that Bunny was to remain there, and when Julian 
was coming away, they asked him if he was going 
to leave Bunny. " Why," said the httle man, " he 

[ 28 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

is to be Ellen's own!" Whereat they said noth- 
ing. He says, however, that they seemed to be 
glad to have it. Poor Bunny, I am afraid, is 
doomed to be a sufferer for the rest of his life. 
Ellen, according to Julian's account, took the 
poor little fellow up by his fur, and by his hind 
leg, keeping him dangling in the air, and com- 
mitted odious other outrages. Perhaps I had 
better have drowned him. Possibly I may yet 
have a chance to do so, for I should not wonder 
if they were to send him back. Julian says he 
had a great mind to snatch him away and run 
home. 

Before dinner we took a walk to the lake, 
where we found a boat drawn up on the shore, 
and if it had not been fastened to the root of a 
tree and locked, I think we should have taken a 
trip to foreign parts. The little man got into 
the boat, and enjoyed himself greatly, especially 
when he discovered some little old fish, evidently 
of some days' continuance, in the bottom of the 
boat. 

After dinner came Mr. Farley, as he had 
partly given me to expect when I saw him yes- 
terday. He came with the purpose of trying to 
catch some fish; so all three of us went down to 

[ 29 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

the lake. Julian was quite in ecstasy. There is 
no use in trying to keep him from becom- 
ing a fisherman; there is the genuine instinct 
in him, and sooner or later it will gratify 
itself. Neither do I perceive any reason why 
it should not; it is as harmless a propensity 
as he could have. However, there was noth- 
ing in our luck, this afternoon, to make him 
enamoured of the pursuit. We caught only a few 
bream and perch, each of which the old gentle- 
man immediately took up by the tail, surveying 
it with most delighted interest, and frisking all 
the while as if in sympathy with the frisky move- 
ments of the poor fish. After a while, Mr. Farley 
and I became tired, and we set out for home. 
The afternoon was as perfect as could be, as to 
beauty and comfort; just warm enough, nothing 
to be added or taken away. He did not stay to 
tea, but went home, taking Herman Melville's 
" White Jacket " with him. 

I put Julian to bed at seven, or thereabouts, 
and went out to pick some currants. While thus 
engaged, Mrs. Tappan passed by the edge of the 
garden, towards the lower barn; and I asked her 
whether Julian made his offering of the rabbit to 
Ellen with due grace. She laughed, and said 

[ 30 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

that he did, but said that they found Bunny quite 
troublesome, and that Ellen maltreated him and 
that the dog was always trying to get him — and, 
in short. Bunny turned out not to be a desirable 
acquisition. She spoke of giving him to little 
Marshall Butler, and suggested, moreover (in 
reply to something that I said about putting him 
out of existence) , that he might be turned out into 
the woods, to shift for himself. There is some- 
thing characteristic in this idea. It shows the sort 
of sensitiveness that finds the pain and misery 
of other people disagreeable, just as it would a 
bad scent, but is perfectly at ease when once they 
are removed from her sphere. I suppose she 
would not for the world have killed Bunny, al- 
though she would have exposed him to the cer- 
tainty of lingering starvation without scruple or 
remorse. Seeing nothing else to be done, I pro- 
posed to take Bunny back, and she promised to 
bring him to-morrow. 

Mrs. Peters went home immediately after sup- 
per. I read " Pendennis " during the evening, ate 
about a quart of crushed currants, and went to 
bed at ten. 



[ 31 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

August Srd. Sunday. 
It was long before I fell asleep again; and then 
I did not awake till half -past six, when he ap- 
peared to have been awake a considerable time. I 
bathed him and myself, as usual, made a fire in 
the kitchen, and went for the milk. It was a per- 
fect morning, with broad and bright sunshine, 
and, I believe, not a single cloud over the whole 
sky; unless it were a few mist wreaths here and 
there on the distant hill-sides. The lake was as 
smooth as glass, and gave motionless reflections 
of the woods and hills. This glassy surface is the 
best aspect of so small a sheet of water. At Luther 
Butler's we found his father-in-law, old Mr. 
Barnes, cutting a young man's hair. The patient 
was seated in a chair at the kitchen door ; and the 
old fellow seemed to perform the operation with 
a good deal of skill, and had made a pretty even 
surface all over his head, leaving the hair about 
an inch long. 

I told Julian that I was going to send him to 
get Bunny after breakfast. The little man's 
phiz quite glowed with delight, but yet he seemed 
confused. " Why, papa," said he, " you see I left 
Bunny there to be Ellen's own; so I can't take 

[ 32 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

him, unless they should send him back." I 
quieted his scruples by telling him what Mrs. 
Tappan had said; and he immediately became 
very desirous to go and get Bunny. At about 
nine o'clock I let him go; and in half an hour or 
so he came back with Bunny, in his little house. 
Poor Bunny seemed to have lost a good deal of 
his confidence in human nature, and kept himself 
as close as he could in a corner of the box, and 
made no response to my advances, nor would 
take a lettuce leaf which I offered him. I rather 
think he has lived in great torment during his ab- 
sence. Julian says it was a great while before he 
could come away with him, on account of Bruin; 
so desirous was that naughty dog to get poor 
little Bunny. 

I read " Pendennis " till twelve, while the old 
boy amused himself hither and thither ; then, see- 
ing him down in the valley, I went and lay under 
an apple tree. Julian climbed up into the tree, and 
sat astride of a branch. His round merry face 
appeared among the green leaves, and a con- 
tinual stream of babble came dripping down 
upon me, like a summer shower. He said how 
he should like to live always in the tree, and make 
a nest of leaves. Then he wanted to be a bird, so 

[ 33 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

that he might fly far away ; and he would go to a 
deep hole, and bring me back a bag of gold ; and 
he would fly to West Newton, and bring home 
mamma on his back ; and he would fly to the Post 
Office for letters, and he would get beans and 
squashes and potatoes. After a while, I took him 
down from the tree; and removing a little way 
from the spot, we chanced upon a remarkable 
echo. It repeated every word of his clear little 
voice, at his usual elevation of talk; and when 
either of us called loudly, we could hear as many 
as three or four repetitions— the last coming ap- 
parently from far away beyond the woods, with 
a strange fantastic similitude to the original 
voice, as if beings somewhat like ourselves were 
shouting in the invisible distance. Julian called 
" Mamma," " Una," and many other words; then 
he shouted his own name, and when the sound 
came back upon us, he said that mamma was call- 
ing him. What a strange weird thing is an echo, 
to be sure ! 

At two o'clock the whole family had dinner: 
Julian an end of bread, myself >a custard pie, and 
Bunny some nibblings of the crust. The little 
man and I walked down to the lake. The cru- 
sade against thistles still continues; and the 

[ ^4 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

mulleins, likewise, come in for their share of the 
blows. After loitering awhile on the shore of 
the lake, we came homeward through Mr. Wil- 
cox's field and through his tall pine wood. I lay 
on my back, looking upward through the branches 
of the trees, while Julian spent nearly a quarter 
of an hour, I should think, beating down a single 
great mullein-stalk. He certainly does evince a 
persevering purpose, sometimes. We strolled 
through the wood among the tall pillars of those 
primaeval pines, and thence home along the 
margin of a swamp, in which I gathered a 
sheaf of cat-tails. This brings the history up to 
the present time, within a few minutes of five 
o'clock. 

Either I have less patience to-day than or- 
dinary, or the little man makes larger demands 
upon it; but it really does seem as if he had 
baited me with more questions, references, and 
observations, than mortal father ought to be ex- 
pected to endure. He does put me almost beside 
my propriety, never quitting me, and continually 
thrusting in his word between the clauses of 
every sentence of all my reading, and smashing 
every attempt at reflection into a thousand frag- 
ments. 

[35 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

- 1 put him to bed at seven ; gathered and 
crushed some currants; took a meditative walk 
to-and-fro, behind the house, looking out on the 
lake and hills; ate the currants; pored over a 
paper (having finished the first volume of "Pen- 
dennis "), and went to bed before ten. 

August Mh. Monday. 
We got up at about half -past six ; and before the 
bathing was over Mrs. Peters arrived. Going 
for the milk, the sun shone, warm but not bright, 
through a thin cloudiness that was diffused over 
the whole sky. The little man seemed to be 
sprightly and in good condition, although he had 
tumbled about, during the night, to a degree that 
often woke me up. After breakfast, I gathered 
a tray full of string beans from my garden, and 
Julian a tin pail full for his own individual do- 
main. 

The little man had been speculating about his 
mother's age, and saj'-s she is twenty j^ears old. 
"So very small," he exclaims, " and twenty years 
^oldl" 

The weather grew very chill as the day ad- 
vanced, with the wind from the eastward. Oh, 
for an east wind with a breath of the salt sea in it ! 

[ 36 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

Of course, this infernal atmosphere has given me 
a cold; and I have sat shivering all day, with an 
utter disinclination to move. All day, I mean, 
until somev^hat past four, when Julian and I set 
out for the village. The little man has kept up 
his spirits, and has hammered and pounded at 
some carpenter work or other, greatly to the dis- 
comfort of my head; although I fell into a half 
drowse in the midst of it. On our road to the 
village, he trotted off like a young colt, on his 
short, but unweariable legs. Reaching the office, 
we found no letter; the Eastern mail had somehow 
or other failed to arrive — a miserable mischance. 
After stepping into the court-house to see Mr. 
Farley, and sitting awhile in his office, we turned 
our faces homeward ; the old gentleman pestering 
me sorely to get him an orange — which, however, 
I could not have done without a long walk to the 
other end of the village. He seemed just as ac- 
tive and frisky as ever on our homeward road; 
while I was grim, gloomy, and utterly without 
elasticity. I turned up the avenue to Highwood, 
with a letter and paper for Willy Barney; and 
finding the study window open, I stept in and 
took the " Home Journal," which I looked over, 
in a chair, under the porch. 

[ 37 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

I put Julian to bed at seven, and then wrapt 
myself in my wadded gown, and sat in the bou- 
doir, — took some nux vomica and w^ent to bed be- 
fore ten. 

August 5th. Tuesday. 
I SLEPT pretty well, and so did the old gentle- 
man; although he woke me once with his tum- 
blings and tossings. We got up, as usual, at half- 
past six ; my cold being apparently on the mend- 
ing hand. The weather, as we found on going 
for the milk, was rather less chill than yesterday ; 
but there were clouds over the whole sky, here 
and there resting on the ridges of the hills. No 
wind at all; the lake perfectly smooth. Coming 
home from Luther's, the little man lingered be- 
hind to gather some flowers, and then setting out 
to run, he came down with a terrible tumble. 

It now lacks a quarter of eleven o'clock. The 
only remarkable event, thus far, has been a visit. 
I was sitting in the boudoir, when a knock came 
to the front door; and Mrs. Peters said that a 
lady wished to see me ; so I went up-stairs on tip- 
toe, and made myself as presentable as I could, 
at short notice, and came down to the dining- 
room. The visitor was a lady, rather young, and 

[ 38 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

quite comelj'-, with pleasant and intelligent eyes, 
in a pretty Quaker dress. 

She offered me her hand, and spoke with much 
simplicity, but yet in a ladylike way, of her in- 
terest in my works, and her not being able to re- 
sist a desire to see me, on finding herself in my 
vicinity. I asked her into the sitting-room to en- 
joy our back view; and we talked of the scenery 
and of various persons and matters. Lowell, 
Whittier, Mr. James, and Herman Melville 
were more or less discussed; she seemed to be a 
particular friend of Whittier, and had heard of 
his calling on me, two or three years ago. Her 
manners were very agreeable indeed; — the Qua- 
ker simplicity, and the little touch of Quaker 
phraseology, gave piquancy to her refinement 
and air of society. She had a pleasant smile, and 
eyes that readily responded to one's thought; so 
that it was not difficult to talk with her — a singu- 
lar, but yet a gentle freedom in expressing her 
own opinions — an entire absence of affectation. 
These were the traits that impressed me; and, on 
the whole, it was the only pleasant visit I ever ex- 
perienced in my capacity as author. She did not 
bore me with laudations of my own writings, but 
merely said that there are some authors with 

[ 39 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

whom we felt ourselves privileged to be ac- 
quainted, by the nature of our sympathy with 
their writings, or something to that effect, &c., 
&c., &c. 

All this time, Julian was climbing into my lap. 
He had on a knit jacket, which I had thought it 
prudent to endue him with, in the morning, on 
account of the east wind. This, however, I took 
off, in the lady's presence. I had brushed and 
frizzled his hair, after breakfast; but it only 
looked the worse for my pains. She smiled on 
him, and praised his healthy aspect, and in- 
quired whether he looked hke his mother — ob- 
serving that he had no resemblance to myself. 
Finally she rose to depart, and I ushered her to 
the gate, where, as she took leave, she told me her 
name— "Elizabeth Lloj^d"— and bidding me 
" Farewell ! " she went on her way, and I saw her 
no more. She had not ridden hither, but was on 
a walk. She resides in Philadelphia. Julian al- 
lowed her to kiss him. I have read Fourier to- 
day, when I have read anything. After dinner, 
we set out on a walk down to the lake. The 
weather is still uncertain, threatening rain all the 
time, and never fulfilling its threat. It might 
more properly be called a promise now than a 

[ 40 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

threat; for it is an exceedingly dry time indeed. 
There are five or six feet more of margin to the 
lake than I ever saw before; and the brook is 
quite dry along a great part of its channels. The 
effect of the di'ought is visible in the foliage of 
the woods; it has shrunken within a few days, so 
that the shade which it cast is not so dense as be- 
fore. This lack of moisture may be one reason 
that withered and yellow leaves, and even 
branches, begin to be seen. But mam^' autumnal 
characteristics may now be detected; the yellow 
flowers, the yellow hue of grain-fields, the no 
longer juicy, but crispy herbage — everything 
tells a story of a past climax. And when did it 
pass? I am sure I don't know. 

On our way home Julian was stung on the leg 
by a wasp, and squealed outrageously. This 
was getting over the fence by Mr. Tappan's oat- 
field. He seemed quite in an agony, at first, but 
was so far recovered, before we reached the 
house, that he asked for a piece of bread and some 
water more earnestly than a cure for the bite. 
I first bathed his leg in arnica, and then fed him. 
All this has brought us to a quarter past five. 
He continues to pester me with his inquisitions. 
For instance, just now, while he is whittling with 

[ 41 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

my jack-knife: "Father, if you had bought all 
the jack-knives at the shop, what would you do for 
another, when you broke them all?" "I would 
go somewhere else," say I. But there is no sup- 
pressing him! " If you had bought all the jack- 
knives in the world, what would you do? " And 
here my patience gives way, and I entreat him 
not to trouble me with any more foolish questions. 
I really think it would do him good to spank him, 
apropos of this habit. 

I put him to bed between six and seven ; and my 
cold being not quite well, went to bed myself at 

nine. 

August Qth. Wednesday. 

We got up about the usual time. The little 
man's leg and foot were swollen and inflamed, 
in consequence of the wasp-bite yesterday; and 
he complained of pain when the part was touched, 
though otherwise it seemed to be comfortable 
enough. I gave him two globules of aconite, 
and advised him not to go with me for the milk ; 
but he insisted, and got along without any incon- 
venience. It was a clear, mild morning, with 
some clouds, but a singularly transparent at- 
mosphere. We got some butter at Luther's ; and 
being myself burthened with the milk, I gave it 
to the old gentleman to carry. He remonstrated, 

[ 42 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

in a sharp, quick, high voice, sounding very much 
hke the chattering of an angry squirrel ; but when 
I reasoned with him, and pointed out the impro- 
priety of my carrying two burthens, while he had 
none, he yielded at once; and refused to let me 
take the butter when I thought he had carried it 
far enough. 

After breakfast, we gathered some summer 
squashes, the first our garden has produced. 
Then I frizzled his wig, an art in which I do not 
perceive that I make any improvement. It was 
before ten, I think, when we set forth on a walk 
to the lake; it being a beautiful forenoon with 
warmth in the sun and coolness in the breaths of 
wind. At the lake the little man provided himself 
with an old dry branch of a tree, to the end of 
which he fastened a straw, and began to fish, with 
a faith that it was really piteous to behold. Af- 
terwards, we went through the green, glimmer- 
ing wood to the beach near the Stockbridge road, 
where we both amused ourselves setting sticks 
and chips afloat. For my part, I felt very inac- 
tive with this lazy, benumbing cold, which hangs 
on longer than usual. It made me no fit play- 
mate for this frisky little monster. It was after 
twelve when we got home. 

After dinner, we went out to the barn, and re- 
[ 43 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

freshed ourselves among the new hay; and when 
we came in, I found two letters — one from 
Phoebe, giving a brief summary of her weari- 
nesses; the other from Pike, concerning a plan 
for a sea-shore residence. Having previously in- 
tended to go to the village this afternoon, we set 
out at a little past four. It was a hot sun, with 
now and then a pufF of cool breeze : the same poi- 
sonous weather that we have had so much of, this 
summer; but the breeze was enjoyable, neverthe- 
less. I found nothing at the office, save the " Mu- 
seum," and a letter from an autograph collector. 
Julian was remarkably uneasy in the village, in- 
somuch that I came away without purchasing 
some loaf-sugar, which we have wanted ever so 
long. He was so restless in his movements, that 
I suspected him to be, in his technical phrase, 
"uncomfortable"; but he positively denied it. 
We stopt at Love Grove; and then again I made 
inquisition as to this point; but he still said no. 
He was so restless, however, that I advised him 
to go home before me, and he accordingly started 
at a great pace. 

I put him to bed at about seven. It is now 
between eight and nine. In the dusk of the 
evening, just now, came Mrs. Tappan to borrow 

[ 44 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

some eggs (I lent her seven) and to ask if I 
were to write again to Sophia, before her return. 
In that case, she wishes her to get ten pounds of 
ground rice. 

I looked over the newspaper during the even- 
ing, and to bed before ten. 

August 7th. Thursday. 
We got up rather later than usual this morning : 
not till seven o'clock by our time-piece, which, 
however, is twenty minutes faster than the vil- 
lage clock. A still, warm morning, with the sun 
already shining fervently, though muffled by 
here and there a cloud. We went on our custom- 
ary milky way. The aspect of the hills was va- 
ried from what it has been for some time past, by 
a sunny haze that involved distant objects in a 
still greater remoteness. It was a lazy morning. 
I myself felt it particularly so ; and the little man 
acknowledged the same influence by the absence 
of somewhat of his ordinary f riskiness; but so 
did not two or three squirrels whom we saw scam- 
pering along on the tops of the fences. Julian 
talked about poison-flowers, with which, accord- 
ing to him, the roadside is bordered, and which 
are not to be touched with the naked hand. 

[ 45 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

After breakfast, we gathered some beans ; then 
I frizzled his wool. It is observable that his hair 
does not begin to present a respectable appear- 
ance until the day after I have been at work on 
it; so that, every morning, I regularly spoil my 
own handiwork of the day before. His patience 
under the operation is most exemplary. 

In the course of the forenoon, it became 
showery, so that we could make no excursions 
further than the shed and barn. Mr. Waldo, who 
had one of his little girls with him in the field, 
brought her hither for a few minutes. She is 
quite a pretty child, about three years old, with 
large dark eyes, and a queer little merry face. 
Julian kept himself in reserve, and offered few 
or no attentions, except to run and get Bunny, 
at my suggestion. He is getting to be a boy, in 
this respect. She was much tickled with Bunny, 
whom she took to be a kind of little cat; and I 
was not without hopes of disposing of this valu- 
able animal to Mr. Waldo, for his daughter's be- 
hoof. But he did not offer to take Bunn}^ I 
talked with him on Fourierism and kindi-ed sub- 
jects, and he seems to be a man of thought and 
intelligence. He said that Cornelius was going to 
the village to-day; and I gave him a letter which 

[ 46 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

I had written to Phoebe, to be put in the Post 
Office — which I rather regret, as I shall have no 
certitude of its being mailed. So I must write 
another before Saturday. 

It has continued quite showery through the 
afternoon. Just now there was a very pictur- 
esque scene, if I could but paint it in words. 
Across our valley, from east to west, there was a 
heavy canopy of clouds, almost resting on the 
hills on either side. It did not extend southward 
so far as Monument Mountain, which lay in 
sunshine, and with a sunny cloud midway on its 
bosom ; and from the midst of our storm, beneath 
our black roof of clouds, we looked out upon this 
bright scene, where the people were enjoying 
beautiful weather. The clouds hung so low over 
us, that it was like being in a tent, the entrance 
of which was drawn up, permitting us to see the 
sunny landscape. This lasted for several min- 
utes ; but at last the shower stretched southward, 
and quite snatched away Monument Mountain, 
and made it invisible ; although now it is mistily 
reappearing. 

Julian has got rid of the afternoon in a mis- 
cellaneous way: making a whip, and a bow and 
arrows, and playing jackstraws with himself for 

[ 47 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

an antagonist. It was less than an hour, I think, 
after dinner, when he began to tease for some- 
thing to eat; although he dined abundantly on 
rice and string beans. I allowed him a slice of 
bread in the middle of the afternoon, and an hour 
afterwards he began to bellow at the full stretch 
of his lungs for more, and beat me terribly be- 
cause I refused it. He is really as strong as a 
little giant. He asked me just now: " What are 
sensible questions?" I suppose with a view to 
asking me some. 

After the most rampageous resistance, the old 
gentleman was put to bed at seven o'clock. I 
ought to mention that Mrs. Peters is quite atten- 
tive to him, in her grim way. To-day, for in- 
stance, we found two ribbons on his old straw hat, 
which must have been of her sewing on. She 
encourages no familiarity on his part, nor is he 
in the least drawn towards her, nor, on the other 
hand, does he exactly seem to stand in awe; but 
he recognizes that there is to be no communication 
beyond the inevitable — and, with that under- 
standing, she awards him all substantial kindness. 

To bed not long after nine. 



[ 48 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

August Sth. Friday. 
It was not much later than six when we got up. 
A pleasant morning, with a warm sun, and clouds 
lumbering about, especially to the northward and 
eastward: the relics of yesterday's showeriness, 
and perhaps foreboding similar weather to-day. 
When we went for the milk, Mrs. Butler told me 
that she could not let us have any more butter at 
present; so that we must have recourse to High- 
wood. Before breakfast, the little man heard a 
cat mewing ; and, on investigation, we found that 
the noise proceeded from the cistern. I removed 
a plank, and, sure enough, there seemed to be a 
cat swimming for her life in it. Mrs. Peters 
heard her, last night; and probably she had been 
there ten or twelve hours, paddling in that dismal 
hole. After many efforts to get her out, I at last 
let down a bucket, into which she made shift to 
scramble, and so I drew her out. The poor thing 
was almost exhausted, and could scarcely crawl; 
and no wonder, after such a night as she must 
have spent. We gave her some milk, of which 
she lapped a little. It was one of the kittens. 

Early in the forenoon came Deborah, with 
Ellen, to see Julian and Bunny. Julian was 

[ 49 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

quite silent. Between eleven and twelve came 
Herman Melville and the two Duyckincks, in a 
barouche and pair. Melville had spoken, when 
he was here, of bringing these two expected 
guests of his to call on me ; and I intended, should 
it be any wise practicable, to ask them to stay to 
dinner ; but we had nothing whatever in the house 
to-day. It passed well enough, however, for 
the}^ proposed a ride and a picnic, to which I 
readily consented. In the first place, however, I 
produced our only remaining bottle of Mr. 
Mansfield's champagne; after which we set out, 
taking Julian, of course. It was an admirable 
day; neither too cold nor too hot— with some 
little shadow of clouds, but no appearance of 
impending rain. We took the road over the 
mountain toward Hudson, and by and by came 
to a pleasant grove, where we alighted and ar- 
ranged matters for our picnic. 

After all, I suspect they had considered the 
possibility, if not probability, of my giving them 
a dinner ; for the repast was neither splendid nor 
particularly abundant— only some sandwiches 
and gingerbread. There was nothing whatever 
for Julian, except the gingerbread ; for the bread 
which encased the sandwiches was buttered, and 

[ 50 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

moreover had mustard on it. So I had to make 
the little man acquainted, for the first time in his 
life, with gingerbread; and he seemed to be 
greatly pleased until he had eaten a considerable 
quantity— when he began to discover that it was 
not quite the thing to make a meal of. However, 
his hunger was satisfied and no harm done; be- 
sides that, there were a few nuts and raisins at the 
bottom of the basket, whereof he ate and was 
contented. He enjoyed the ride and the whole 
thing exceedingly, and behaved like a man ex- 
perienced in picnics. 

After talk about literature and other things, 
we set forth again, and resolved to go and visit 
the Shaker establishment at Hancock, which was 
but two or three miles off. I don't know what 
Julian expected to see — some strange sort of 
quadruped or other, I suppose— at any rate, 
the term Shakers was evidently a subject of 
great puzzlement with him, and probably he was 
a little disappointed when I pointed out an old 
man in a gown and a gray, broad-brimmed hat 
as a Shaker. This old man was one of the fathers 
and rulers of the village ; and under his guidance 
we visited the principal dwelling-house in the 
village. It was a large brick edifice, with admir- 

[ 51 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

ably convenient arrangements, and floors and 
walls of polished wood, and plaster as smooth as 
marble, and everything so neat that it was a pain 
and constraint to look at it; especially as it did 
not imply any real delicacy or moral purity in the 
occupants of the house. There were spit-boxes 
(bearing no appearance of ever being used, it is 
true) at equal distances up and down the long 
and broad entries. The sleeping-apartments of 
the two sexes had an entry between them, on one 
side of which hung the hats of the men, on the 
other the bonnets of the women. In each cham- 
ber were two particularly narrow beds, hardly 
wide enough for one sleeper, but in each of 
which, the old elder told us, two people slept. 
There was no bathing or washing conveniency 
in the chambers ; but in the entry there was a sink 
and wash-bowl, where all their attempts at puri- 
fication were to be performed. The fact shows 
that all their miserable pretence at cleanliness 
and neatness is the thinnest superficiality; and 
that the Shakers are and must needs be a filthy 
set. And then their utter and systematic lack 
of privacy; the close function of man with man, 
and superiority of one man over another — it is 
hateful and disgusting to think of ; and the sooner 

[ 52 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

the sect is extinct the better — a consummation 
which, I am happy to hear, is thought to be not 
a great many years distant. 

In the great house we saw an old woman — a 
round, fat, cheerful little old sister— and two 
girls, from nine to twelve years old; these looked 
at us and at Julian with great curiosity, though 
slily and with side glances. At the doors of other 
dwellings, we saw women knitting or otherwise 
at work; and there seemed to be a kind of com- 
fort among them, but of no higher kind than is 
enjoyed by their beasts of burden. Also, the 
women looked pale, and none of the men had a 
jolly aspect. They are certainly the most singu- 
lar and bedevilled set of people that ever existed 
in a civilized land; and one of these days, when 
their sect and system shall have passed away, a 
History of the Shakers will be a very curious 
book. All through this outlandish village went 
our little man, hopping and dancing in excellent 
spirits. 

I think it was about five o'clock when we left 
the village. Lenox was probably seven or eight 
miles distant; but we mistook the road and went 
up hill and down, through unknown regions, over 
at least twice as much ground as there was any 

[ 53 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

need. It was by far the most picturesque ride 
that I ever had in Berkshire. On one height, just 
before sunset, we had a view for miles and miles 
around, with the Kaatskills blue and far on the 
horizon. Then the road ran along the verge of a 
deep gulf —deep, deep, deep, and filled with foli- 
age of trees that could not reach half way up to 
us; and on the other side of the chasm up rose 
a mountainous precipice. This continued for a 
good distance; and on the other side of the road 
there were occasional openings through the for- 
est, that showed the low country at the base of the 
mountain. If I could find the way, I should like 
to go back to this scene on foot, for I had no idea 
that there was such a region within a few miles 
of us. 

By and by, we saw Monument Mountain and 
Rattlesnake Hill, and all the familiar features of 
our own landscape, except the lake, which (by 
some witchcraft that I cannot possibly explain 
to myself) had utterly vanished. It appeared as 
if we ought to see the lake, and our little red 
house, and Highwood; but none of these objects 
were discoverable, although the scene was cer- 
tainly that of which they make a part. It was 
now after sunset ; and we found that we were ap- 

[ 54 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

preaching the village of Lenox from the west and 
must pass through it before reaching home. I got 
out at the Post Office, and received, among other 
things, a letter from Phoebe. By the time we 
were out of the village, it was beyond twilight; 
indeed, but for the full moon, it would have been 
quite dark. The little man behaved himself still 
like an old traveller; but sometimes he looked 
round at me from the front seat (where he sat be- 
tween Herman Melville and Evert Duyckinck), 
and smiled at me with a peculiar expression, 
and put back his hand to touch me. It was 
a method of establishing a sympathy in what 
doubtless appeared to him the wildest and unpre- 
cedentedest series of adventures that had ever be- 
fallen mortal travellers. Anon, we drew up at 
the little gate of the old red house. 

Now, with many doubts as to the result, but 
constrained by the necessity of the case, I had 
asked the party to take tea and rest the horses, 
before returning to Pittsfield. I did not know 
but Mrs. Peters would absolutely refuse to co- 
operate, at such an hour, and with such poor 
means as were at hand. However, she bestirred 
herself at once, like a colored angel as she is ; and 
for my own part, I went over to Highwood, a 

[ 55 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

humble petitioner for some loaf-sugar and for 
whatever else Mrs. Tappan should be pleased to 
bestow. She too showed herself angelically dis- 
posed, and gave me not only the sugar, but a pot 
of raspberry jam, and some little bread-cakes — 
an inestimable gift, inasmuch as our own bread 
was sour. 

Immediately on our arrival, Julian had flung 
himself on the couch, without so much as taking 
off his hat, and fallen asleep. When I got back 
from Highwood, I found that Mrs. Peters had 
already given him his supper, and that he was 
munching his final piece of bread. So I un- 
dressed him, and asked him, meanwhile, whether 
he had had a good time. But the naughty little 
man said, " No! " whereas, until within the last 
half hour, never had he been happier in his life ; but 
the bitter weariness had effaced the memory of 
all that enjoyment. I never saw such self- 
gratulation and contentment as that wherewith 
he stretched himself out in bed, and doubtless 
was asleep before I reached the foot of the stairs. 

In a little while more, Mrs. Peters had supper 
ready — no very splendid supper, but not nearly 
so meagre as it might have been: tea, bread and 
butter, dropt eggs, little bread-cakes, raspberry 

[56 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

jam; and I truly thanked Heaven, and Mrs. Pe- 
ters, that it was no worse! After tea, we had 
some pleasant conversation ; and at ten o'clock the 
guests departed. I looked over one or two news- 
papers, and went to bed before eleven. It was a 
most beautiful night, with full, rich, cloudless 
moonlight, so that I would rather have ridden the 
six miles to Pittsfield than have gone to bed. 

August 9th. Saturday. 
Julian awoke in bright condition this morning, 
and we arose at about seven. I felt the better for 
the expedition of yesterday; and asking Julian 
whether he had a good time, he answered with 
great enthusiasm in the affirmative, and that he 
wanted to go again, and that he loved Mr. Mel- 
ville as well as me, and as INIamma, and as Una. 
It being so fair and fine weather last night, 
it followed as a matter of course that it should be 
showery this morning; and so it was. The rain 
was pouring when we got up ; and though it held 
up when I went for the milk, the atmosphere was 
very vaporish and juicy. From all the hill-sides 
mists were steaming up, and Monument Moun- 
tain seemed to be enveloped as if in the smoke of 
a great battle. I kept Julian within doors till 

[ 57 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

about eleven, when, the sun ghmmering out, we 
went to the barn, and afterwards to the garden. 
The rest of the time, he had played at jack- 
straws, and ridden on his horse, and through all 
and above all has deafened and confounded me 
with his interminable babble. I read him, in the 
course of the morning, a portion of his mother's 
letter that was addressed to himself; and he 
chuckled immeasurably. 

We could not venture away from the house 
and its environment, on account of the weather; 
and so we got rid of the day as well as we could 
within those precincts. I think I have hardly 
ever known Julian to talk so incessantly as he 
has to-day; if I did not attend to him, he talked 
to himself. He has been in excellent spirits all 
the time. 

Between four and five o'clock came on one of 
the heaviest showers of the day; and in the midst 
of it there was a succession of thundering knocks 
at the front door. Julian and I ran as quickly 
as possible to see whom it might be, and on open- 
ing the door, there was a young man on the door- 
step, and a carriage at the gate, and Mr. James 
thrusting his head out of the carriage window, 
and beseeching shelter from the storm! So here 

[ 58 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

was an invasion. Mr. and Mrs. James, their 
oldest son, their daughter, their httle son Charles, 
their maid-servant and their coachman; not that 
the coachman came in; and as for the maid, she 
staid in the hall. Dear me, where was Phoebe in 
this time of need! All taken aback as I was, I 
made the best of it. Julian helped me somewhat, 
but not much. Little Charlie is a few months 
younger than he, and between them they at least 
furnished subject for remark. Mrs. James, 
luckily, seemed to be very much afraid of thunder 
and lightning; and as these were loud and sharp, 
she might be considered hors de combat. The 
son, who seemed to be about twentj^ and the 
daughter, of seventeen or eighteen, took the part 
of saying nothing; which I suppose is the Eng- 
lish fashion, as regards such striplings. So Mr. 
James was the only one to whom it was necessary 
to talk; and we got along tolerably well. He 
said that this was his birthday, and that he was 
keeping it by a pleasure-excursion, and that 
therefore the rain was a matter of course. We 
talked of periodicals, English and American, and 
of the Puritans, about whom we agreed pretty 
well in our opinions ; and Mr. James told how he 
had been recently thrown out of his wagon, and 

[ 59 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

how the horse ran away with Mrs. James;— and 
we talked about green hzards and red ones. And 
Mr. James told Julian how, when he was a child, 
he had twelve owls at the same time, and, at an- 
other time, a raven, who used to steal silver spoons 
and money; he also mentioned a squirrel, and 
various other pets — and Julian laughed most ob- 
streperously. 

As to little Charlie, he was much interested 
with Bunny, and likewise with the rocking-horse, 
which luckily happened to be in the sitting-room. 
He examined the horse most critically and asked 
a thousand questions about him, with a particu- 
larly distinct utterance, and not the slightest 
bashf ulness ; finally he got upon the horse's back, 
but did not show himself quite so good a rider 
as Julian. Our old boy hardly said a word; in- 
deed it could hardly be expected, on the first 
brunt of such an irruption as we were under- 
going. Finally, the shower past over, and the 
invaders passed away ; and I do hope that, on the 
next occasion of the kind, my wife may be there 
to see. 

Immediately on their departure, Mrs. Peters 
brought in Julian's supper; being in a hurry to 

[ 60 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

arrange matters and go home. It is now twenty 
minutes past six. 

I spent a rather forlorn evening, and to bed at 
nine. 

August 10th. Sunday, 
Uprose we at not much after six. It was a par- 
ticularly cool and north-west windy morning; 
and sullen and angry clouds were scattered 
about, especially to the northward. When we 
went for the milk, Luther Butler expressed his 
opinion that Indian corn would not do very well 
this season. In fact, it hardly seems like a sum- 
mer at all. 

I got breakfast, and the morning passed away 
without any incident, till about ten, when we set 
out for the lake. There the little man took an 
old branch of a tree, and set very earnestly to 
fishing. Such perseverance certainly does de- 
serve a better reward than it is likely to meet 
with; although he seems to enjoy it, and always 
comes away without anj^ apparent disappoint- 
ment. Afterwards, we threw stones into the 
lake ; and I lay on the bank, under the trees, and 
watched his little busyness — his never-wearying 
activity — as cheerful as the sun, and shedding a 

[ 61 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

reflected cheer upon my sombreness. From the 
lake, we strolled upward, fighting mulleins and 
thistles, and I sat down on the edge of the tall 
pine wood. He finds so much to amuse him in 
every possible spot we light upon, that he al- 
ways contends stoutly against a removal. After 
spending a little time here, we passed through the 
wood to the field beyond, when he insisted that 
I should sit down on a great rock, and let him 
dig in the sand, and so I did. Here the old boy 
made little holes, and heaped up the sand, and 
imagined his constructions to be fairy houses; 
and I believe he would willingly have spent the 
rest of the day there, had I been as content as 
he. We came homeward by the cold spring, out 
of which we drank; and when we reached the 
house, it was after one. 

For dinner, I gave him bread and water, and a 
small remnant of corn-starch pudding; and I 
myself ate a piece of cake and a cucumber. Then 
we went out and fed the hens ; after which I lay 
down on the slope of the valley with the sun fall- 
ing upon me out of the clear blue sky, warm and 
genial, but without too heavy a warmth. Julian, 
meanwhile, played about, not so far off as to lose 
the feeling of companionship, yet so far that he 

[ 62 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

could only speak to me in a shout ; and whenever 
he shouted, a child's clear voice, in the distance, 
shouted more faintly the self -same words. It 
was the echo. And thus we have arrived at half- 
past two. The old boy is now riding on his rock- 
ing-horse, and talking to me as fast as his tongue 
can go. Mercy on me, was ever man before so be- 
pelted with a child's talk as I am! It is his desire 
of sympathy that lies at the bottom of the great 
heap of his babblement. He wants to enrich all 
his enjoyments by steeping them in the heart of 
some friend. I do not think him in danger of 
living so solitary a life as much of mine has been. 
During the afternoon, we gathered some cur- 
rants, which I crushed, and gave him a few at 
supper. When that was over (and we got 
through with it before six) we went out to the 
barn. "A very fine morning, isn't it, papa?" 
said he, as we came out of the door. I wish I 
could record all his apothegms; but they do not 
seem worth writing down, till I have so far for- 
gotten them that they cannot be recalled in their 
integrity. To-day, after beating down a great 
many thistles, he observed, "All the world is a 
great pricker ! " He has an idea that I do not 
think him very wise ; and this afternoon he asked, 

[ 63 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

"Papa, do you think I don't know anything?" 
"I do," said I. "But I knew how to shut the 
boudoir door when you didn't," rejoined he. I 
am very glad he has that one instance of practical 
sagacity (though, after all, it was merel}^ a chance 
hit) to console himself with. Nevertheless, I 
really think he has the stuff in him to make wis- 
dom of, in due season ; and Heaven forbid that it 
should come too soon. 

At bed-time, I indulged him in what he likes 
better than almost anything else— a rampageous 
sham-battle — before undressing him; and at 
seven o'clock, he was finally stowed away. 

Let me say outright, for once, that he is a 
sweet and lovely little boy, and worthy of all the 
love that I am capable of giving him. Thank 
God! God bless him! God bless Phoebe for 
giving him to me ! God bless her as the best wife 
and mother in the world ! God bless Una, whom 
I long to see again! God bless little Rosebud! 
God bless me, for Phoebe's and all their sakes! 
No other man has so good a wife; nobody has 
better children. Would I were worthier of her 
and them! 

My evenings are all dreary alone, and without 
books that I am in the mood to read; and this 

[ 64 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

evening one like the rest. So I went to bed at 
about nine, and longed for Phoebe. 

August 11th. Monday. 
The little man spoke to me, sometime in the 
depth of night, and said very quietly that he did 
not have veiy pleasant dreams. Doubtless, the 
currants, which he ate at supper, had wrought a 
malevolent influence upon him; and, in fact, I 
could hear them rumbling in his belly. He him- 
self heard the rumor of them, but did not recog- 
nize where the sound came from, and inquired 
of me what it was. After a while, he fell asleep 
again, and slept somewhat later than usual, inso- 
much that I now, at not far from seven, bathed, 
and finally had to arouse him. Mrs. Peters re- 
turned before his bath was over. He munched a 
slice of bread as we went together for the milk. 
It was a clear, calm, and pretty cool morning. 

After breakfast, I gathered some string beans, 
and good store of summer squashes; then friz- 
zled the old gentleman's wig, and went up-stairs 
to my own toilet. Before ten, we set out on a 
walk along the mountain side, by the Hudson 
road. There could not be more delightful wea- 
ther; warm, but not too warm, except in the full 

[ 65 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

brunt of the sunbeams — and a gentle stirring 
breeze, which had the memory of an iceberg in it, 
as all the breezes of this summer have. It was a 
very pleasant walk. The old boy (who well mer- 
its to be dubbed a Knight of the Thistle) per- 
formed feats of valor against these old enemies; 
neither did I shrink from the combat. He found 
many flowers, too, and he was enthusiastic about 
their beauty; often bestowing his encomiums on 
very homely ones. But he has a real feeling for 
everything that grows. In the wood opposite 
Mr. Flint's, we saw some men cutting down 
trees; at which he expressed great anger, and 
said he would rather have no fire, and drink cold 
milk. We walked a good way along the road, 
until we came within sight of a house which 
stands at what seems to be the highest point, and 
deepest in the forest. There we turned back, and 
rested ourselves on some logs, a little withdrawn 
from the roadside. The little man said that one 
of these logs was Giant Despair, and that the old 
giant was dead ; and he dug a shallow hole, which 
he said should be the giant's grave. I objected 
that it was not half large enough; but he in- 
formed me that Giant Despair grew very small, 
the moment he was dead. 

[ 66 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

While we sat here, a man passed in a four- 
wheeled chaise; and soon afterwards came a 
handsome barouche and pair, with two ladies and 
a whiskered gentleman in it, making a very gay 
spectacle along the forest road; and in the other 
direction came a wagon, driven by a boy, and 
containing a woman and a little girl, who, I sup- 
pose, were his mother and sister. The woman 
alighted, and coming towards me, asked if I had 
seen any stray chickens! It seems, in passing 
over the road this morning, they had lost some 
chickens out of the wagon, and now were seeking 
them ; but, in my opinion, they might have called 
wild birds out of the trees, with about as much 
hope of success. However, when we came away, 
they were still seeking their chickens, and the boy 
was calling, " Chick, chick, chick I " with some- 
thing lamentable in his tone; and for aught I 
know, he is calling them yet ; but the chickens have 
strayed into the wild wood, and will perhaps 
intermarry with partridges, or establish a race of 
wild hens. Julian and I came homeward, more 
slowly than we went; for the sun had grown 
pretty fervent, and our walk had been quite a 
long one. We found high-bush blackberries 
along the way, but I allowed him to eat only a 

[ 67 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

very few, and therefore gained most of the httle 
handf uUs, which he gathered, for my own eating. 
It was about twelve when we reached the house. 

He has had peculiar longings for his mother 
and Una to-day, and pronounced his love for 
them with great emphasis. I do not think he has 
given Rosebud any place in his affections yet; 
though he answered, " Yes," in a matter-of-course 
way, when I inquired whether he did not love her 
too. It is now about half -past two, and he wishes 
to take a walk to the lake. 

We went accordingly ; and then he took a bare 
pole and set to fishing again— poor, patient little 
angler that he is ! I lay a long while on the green 
margin of the lake, partly in the shade and partly 
in the sun. The breeze seemed to come from the 
southward, and was pretty brisk; so that it sang 
among the trees and heaved the wavelets against 
the shore. I almost fell asleep; and whenever I 
unclosed my eyes, there was the unweariable fisher- 
boy. By and by he proposed to go to " INIamma's 
Rock," as he has named a certain large rock, be- 
neath some walnut-trees, where the children went 
with Phoebe to gather nuts, last autumn. He 
informed me that, when he was grown up, he 
should build a house for his mother at this rock, 

[ 68 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

and that I might live there too. "When I am 
grown up," he said, " everybody must mind me I " 
We visited " Mamma's Rock," and then he picked 
up the nuts of last year, and perseveringly 
cracked them, believing that in every one he should 
find good meats — nor yet seeming to feel much 
disappointed when he found them all decayed. 
We spent some time here, and then came home 
through the pasture; and the little man kept 
jumping over the high weeds and the tufts of 
everlasting flowers, while I compared his over- 
flowing sprightliness with my own reluctant foot- 
steps, and was content that he should be young 
instead of I. We got home about five. 

I have just put the old fellow to bed, at a 
quarter of seven. He expressed some fear that 
he should have the bad dream of last night over 
again; but I told him that, as he had eaten no 
currants to-night, he would not probably be trou- 
bled. He says the dream was about dogs. 

To bed at about nine. 

August 12th. Tuesday. 
Up at a little past six. The old gentleman said 
that he had had a very pleasant night, and no 
dreams. For myself, I seemed to toss and tumble 

[ 69 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

about, the whole night through;— which is the 
stranger, as I ate not a mouthful of supper. The 
morning was warm, with a partially overcast sky, 
and mist on the hills. The sun gleamed out as 
we were going for the milk, but quickly with- 
drew himself again. Julian capered along, in the 
best imaginable spirits. He makes a very funny 
little figure, this week; his drawers being par- 
ticularly short, so that a great deal of bare leg 
is visible, some of which is tanned brown, while 
the rest is white. 

When I came down from dressing, after break- 
fast, I found a letter from Phoebe on the table, 
fixing her return on Thursday. Julian has taken 
a notion that she is to come back to-morrow, and 
he will not be persuaded out of it. 

At about eleven, we took our well-worn walk 
to the lake ; when, of course, the old gentleman re- 
sumed his piscatory pastime. It would have been 
an excellent day for real fishing, with its stillness 
and cloudiness; but before we left the lake, the 
breeze stirred and ruffled its surface. It was 
nearly dinner-time when we returned, but the 
little man had to be appeased with a slice of 
bread preliminarily, and afterwards feasted im- 
mensely on rice, squash, and string beans. After 

[70 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

dinner, I sat down with a book in the boudoir; 
and, for the first time since his mother went 
away, he was absent in parts unknown for the 
space of an hour. At last I began to think it 
time to look him up; for, now that I am alone 
with him, I have all his mother's anxieties added 
to my own. So I went to the barn and to the cur- 
rant-bushes, and shouted around the house, with- 
out response, and finally sat down on the hay, 
not knowing which way to seek him. But by and 
by he ran round the house, holding up his httle 
fist, with a smiling phiz, and crying out that he 
had something very good for me. The " some- 
thing good " proved to be a squeezed-up pulp con- 
sisting of raspberries, blackberries, and goose- 
berries, which had been stewing in his fist for an 
hour past : a kind of cookery for which his mother 
would have thought them all the better. I could 
not find it in my heart utterly to refuse his gift ; 
so I took a few of the gooseberries, which hap- 
pened not to be crushed, and allowed him to eat 
the rest ; for he said that he had not tasted one. 

It being by this time four o'clock, I dressed 
him and myself and we set out for the village. 
There were a few clouds, which sometimes kindly 
came across the sun; but it seemed to be the sul- 

[ 71 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

triest day of the whole summer, and I really suf- 
fered with the heat— a heavy, brooding, oppres- 
sive heat. At the village I found a note from 
E.P.P. ; another from Longfellow and one 
from a lady requesting an autograph. On our 
way home, the little man was so weary and hot 
that he wished me to carry him, and declared that 
he never wanted to go to the village again, nor 
even to the lake. It was indeed a most weari- 
some walk. And now, at seven o'clock, I am 
going to put him to bed. 

Being in the garden, after putting Juhan to 
bed, Mrs. Tappan passed along the road, and 
asked me to go home with her and see whether 
she had any books which I would like. So I went, 
and took a number of " Harper's Magazine " and 
one or two other periodicals. I had brought her 
a letter from Ellery Channing, in which he pro- 
poses a visit ; but she is going to decline it, for the 
present, on account of want of room and there 
being a baby in the house. She inquired, with 
apparent seriousness, whether we could not re- 
ceive his visit! ! ! — our house being so much big- 
ger than hers, and we having no baby. I looked 
over the periodicals till half -past nine, and then to 
bed. 

[ 72 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

August ISth. Wednesday. 
The little man did not bestir himself so early as 
usual; so at last I got up, after being some time 
awake, and found it to be nearly seven o'clock. 
I bathed, before calling him. It was an overcast 
morning, with mists sleeping heavily on all the 
hills; but here and there you could see the sun- 
beams melting through them, and there was 
every prospect of a hot and shining day. I sup- 
pose this mist and cloudiness is merely local; so 
that Phoebe will probably have a fair morning 
in which to start for home. After all, Julian 
seems to have been right in his obstinate declara- 
tion that his mother was to return to-day. He 
appears now to have given up the idea, however, 
and to acquiesce in her delaying till to-morrow. 
His mind is full of the subject, nevertheless; and 
seeing me in a clean pair of linen pantaloons, just 
now, he asked if I had put them on for mamma. 
As we were going for the milk, he talked about 
what his delight would be, and how he should be- 
have, when his mother arrived. 

At ten o'clock we took a stroll in Tanglewood, 
without any adventure, and returned at eleven. 
The remainder of the forenoon we have spent in 

[ 73 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

the house; it being very warm, and JuHan disin- 
clined to move. He complains of not feehng 
well, but cannot describe his symptoms. I rather 
think dinner will set him right. In the meantime, 
as the best prescription I can think of, I have 
given him a dose of aconite. His bowels do not 
seem to be at all out of order. Our hot and weary 
walk, yesterday, may have aiFected him. 

After dinner we went out and sat under the 
trees for a while, and have spent the rest of the 
afternoon in the house ; except that the little man 
went out to see a load of hay pitched into the 
barn, and afterwards took a short ride on the 
hay-cart. At five o'clock he complained that his 
head ached, and I gave him a dose of belladonna. 
Towards evening he brightened up, ate a good 
supper, and seemed altogether as well as usual. 
Indeed, he has not appeared decidedly unwell at 
any moment. At seven he engaged with great 
spirit in his beloved sham-battle, and is now in 
bed. I did hope (relying undoubtedly on E.P.P.'s 
letter) that he would have seen his mother be- 
fore he slept to-night. I looked over a periodi- 
cal during the evening, and went to bed at nine. 



[ 74 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

August 14!th. Thursday. 
I HAD a very long waking spell, in the mid of 
night, and fell asleep towards morning; and the 
little man awoke earlier than I. After some little 
delay, we both got up, and found it to be not yet 
six. He seemed quite bright and in good condi- 
tion. 

Going for the milk, we saw a dim rainbow, 
there being a scarcely preceptible shower, and 
the sun shining out faintly at the same time. I 
fear, from subsequent and present appearances, 
that it was prophetic of bad weather for the day. 
The old gentleman philosophized about rainbows, 
as we went along ; but I remember nothing that he 
said, except that the sunshine was the light of the 
rainbow. At breakfast he got astride of a fan- 
tasy, and told how he would go up among the 
clouds, and brush them away; so that his mother 
might have fair weather to come home in. He 
announced, too, that he should set up Monument 
Mountain on its end, the longest way, for the 
purpose, I believe, of climbing up to the clouds 
upon it. Observing some cake which Mrs. Peters 
had set on the table for me, he became discon- 
tented with his own breakfast, and wanted some- 

[ 75 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

thing different from the ordinary bread and 
milk. I told him that his bread had yeast in it; 
and he forthwith began to eat it with a great ap- 
petite, and thought it better than he ever tasted. 

About an hour after breakfast, he was afflicted 
with the stomach-ache ; and I gave him some Pul- 
satilla. It appeared to be a pretty severe, but in- 
effectual griping, and not to be followed by any 
consequences. It has now passed away, and he is 
looking over the German picture-book, in excel- 
lent spirits. The day has apparently taken a set- 
tled character for cloud and suUenness, at least, 
if not for absolute inclemency. Still, I do not 
know but it will be more comfortable for Phoebe's 
journey, than the sultriness of yesterday. Would 
she were here! It is now half -past nine; and in 
eight hours more it will be time to hearken for 
her chariot-wheels. 

It being chill and cloudy, we spent the fore- 
noon entirely in the house. The old boy has been 
very happy ; amusing himself with cutting paper, 
looking at pictures, riding on his horse, and all 
the time prating to me — without a moment of ill 
humor (which, indeed, is hardly among his possi- 
bilities) or ill spirit. His stomach-ache has not 
returned. He ate a good dinner of macaroni, 

[ 76 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

rice, squash, and bread ; and I hope his mother will 
be here before night, to receive him from my 
hands in perfect order, and to be delighted with 
the babble which, for nearly three weeks past, has 
run like a brook through all my thoughts. He 
does not anticipate her return very vividly to-day. 
He has not an intense conception of " soon " or 
" now," any more than of any other time. For my 
part, I shall be bitterly disappointed if she does 
not come to-night. 

At three, or a little later, Julian insisted so 
earnestly that we should go down to the lake, that 
I had to comply; especially as the sun had come 
out pretty decidedly. So away we went ; and the 
mannikin was in the highest possible exhilaration, 
absolutely tumbling down with laughter, once or 
twice, at small cause. On reaching the lake, he 
sobered himself and began to angle, with all the 
staidness of an ancient fisherman. By this time 
it had clouded over again, and the lake looked 
wild and angry as the gusts swept over it. I 
feared it might be too chill for the old gentleman 
to remain long at his present quiescent occupa- 
tion; and so I soon called him away, and we 
fought our way home through those never-failing 
enemies, the thistles. It was now nearly five; 

[ 77 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

and within an hour, surely, or very little more, 
Phoebe cannot fail to shine upon us. It seems 
absolutely, an age since she departed. I think I 
hear the sound of wheels now. It was not she. 

Julian has just cried out: " Oh, I wish mamma 
would come. I want to see her so much! — to see 
her! — to see her! — to see her! Papa, perhaps we 
shall find Rose grown up when we see her again ! " 

Inconceivable to tell, she did not come! I put 
Julian to bed not long after six, and set out for 
the Post Office. It was a clear and beautiful sun- 
set, with a brisk September temperature. To 
my further astonishment, I found no letter; so 
that I conclude she must have intended to come 
to-day. It may be that there was a decided rain, 
this morning, in the region roundabout Boston, 
and that this prevented her setting out. I met 
Mrs. Tappan, just before reaching home; and 
she said that Mr. Ward, who was to have taken 
Phoebe and the children under his escort, has not 
arrived. Not improbably, the cause of the delay 
lies with him. 

I read the paper during the evening, by very 
dim lamp-light, and went to bed at half -past 
nine. 

[ T'S ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

August 15th. Friday. 
We did not get up till seven o'clock this morning. 
It was very clear, and of autumnal freshness, 
with a breeze from the northwest. I put a knit 
jacket on the old gentleman when we went for 
the milk; but I fear his poor little bare legs, in 
the intervals between his stockings and drawers, 
must have felt rather bleak. However, he 
trudged along in brisk spirits, and tumbled down 
three times in the course of the walk. On our 
way home, we met three ladies on horseback, at- 
tended by a gentleman; and the little man asked 
me whether I thought the ladies pretty, and said 
that he did not. They really were rather pretty, 
in my opinion; but I suspect that their appear- 
ance on horseback did not suit his taste; and I 
agree with him that a woman is a disagreeable 
spectacle in such an attitude. But the old boy is 
very critical in matters of beauty; although I 
think that the real ground of his censures usually 
lies in some wrong done to his sense of fitness and 
propriety. But this sense is sometimes conven- 
tional with him. For instance, he denied that the 
Quaker lady who called on me was pretty; and 
it turned out that he did not like the unaccus- 

[ 79 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

tomed fashion of her dress, and her thees and 
thous. 

At ten o'clock we set out on a walk towards 
the lake. All the way, and during the whole ex- 
cursion, Julian was full of Giant Despair, and at- 
tributed all his mishaps to that malevolent per- 
sonage. He happened to tread in some fresh 
" cow-mud," as Una calls it; and he said that the 
giant had made it there, so as to trouble him. 
When we came to the open part of Shadow 
Brook, I lay down on the bank, fully exposed to 
the sun, and basked there, with a pleasant sense 
of too much warmth; while sometimes a breath 
of wind would find its way there, and refresh me 
with its austerity. And here I smoked a cigar— 
partly here, and partly on the shore of the lake. 
It is a perfect forenoon of its kind, only it comes 
just about a month too soon. Julian fished, as 
usual, in the lake, and afterwards threw stones 
in it, and seemed never to be weary of haunting 
its margins, any more than a kingfisher which 
we often see there, flitting from one decayed 
branch to another. But I grew tired, after 
a while, and insisted on returning home; whither 
we arrived at precisely noon. 

It is now half -past four. We have made no 
[ 80 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

other excursion to-day, but have loitered in and 
about the house. JuHan does not appear to have 
any imminent impression of his mother's coming, 
though once or twice he has said what a good day 
it was for her to come. Perhaps she is by this 
time in the village. I feel as if she were coming ; 
but, after previous disappointments, I do not look 
upon it as a certainty. Julian, by the by, seems 
perfectly cool ; but, I must say, his hair has taken 
a worse aspect to-day, than any time during her 
absence; and yet I frizzled it as carefully as I 
could. He has on his knit woollen jacket, too, 
which disfigures him horribly; but he will not be 
persuaded to dispense with it, so his mother, I 
suppose, will think he has been looking like a 
fright ever since she went away. 

Bunny is evidently out of order. He appeared 
to be indisposed yesterday, and is still more evi- 
dently so to-day. He has just had a shivering 
fit. Julian thinks he has the scarlet fever; that 
being the only disease with which he has ever 
been conversant. 

Mr. Ward has just been here (at half -past 
five), expecting to find that Phoebe had arrived 
yesterday. This heightens the mystery. E.P.P. 
wrote me that he would escort her on Wednes- 

[ 81 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

day. He was prevented from coming on that 
day, but supposed that she would have come with 
Mrs. Minott, on Thursday. Where can she be? 

I put Julian to bed very soon after supper, and 
immediately set out for the village. Still no let- 
ter from Sophia. I think she must have been 
under some mistake as to Mr. Ward's move- 
ments, and has waited in expectation of his es- 
cort. There was a great box, directed to me, at 
the Post Office, which probably contains her Bos- 
ton purchases. Returning home, I spent the 
evening in reading newspapers. In one of them 
(the " N. Y. Evening Post ") I saw an account of 
the Commencement at the Wesleyan University, 
Middletown, Conn. ; and one of the Baccalaureate 
exercises was a " Modern Classical Oration " by 
Edwin Halsey, late of Cromwell, on myself! I 
don't quite understand the nature of the perform- 
ance, and whether it was in Latin or the ver- 
nacular ; but I should have been curious to hear it. 

To bed, disconsolate, at a little before ten. 

August IQth. Saturday. 
The little man awoke before day, and continued 
awake some time, of course keeping me awake 
too, but fell asleep after a good while, and slept 

[ 82 ] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

till nearly seven — when we both got up. On en- 
tering the bathing-room, I peeped into Bunny's 
box, with something like a foreboding of what 
had happened ; and, sure enough, there lay the 
poor little beast, stark and stiiF. That shivering 
fit, yesterday, had a very fatal aspect in my eyes. 
I have no idea what was his disorder; his diges- 
tive functions appeared to be all right, and his 
symptoms had been merely a disinclination, for 
the last two days, to move or eat. Julian seemed 
to be interested and excited by the event, rather 
than afflicted. He imputed it, as he does all other 
mishaps, to the agency of Giant Despair; and as 
we were going for the milk, he declared it was the 
wickedest thing the giant ever did — "more 
wickeder " than when he made the cow-mud. 

After breakfast, I dug a hole, and we planted 
poor Bunny in the garden; and the old gentle- 
man expressed his hopes that, by to-morrow, a 
flower will have sprung up over him. After friz- 
zling Julian's wig, and shaving myself, I sent 
him over to Highwood with a note to Mrs. Tap- 
pan, informing her of the great box at the Post 
Office, and suggesting that it probably contained 
her rice, and hinting the little probability that 
she would ever get it, unless by sending the 

[ 83 ] 



TWENTY DAYS WITH 

wagon for the box. This being the proper 
method of presenting the affair, she saw it in the 
right hght, and told Juhan she would send. It 
is now nearly ten, and Julian is teasing me to go 
to the lake. He says, just now, " Perhaps to-mor- 
row there will be a tree of Bunnies, and they will 
hang all over it by their ears!" I have before 
this observed that children have an odd propen- 
sity to treat death (the death of animals, at least) 
as a joke, though rather nervously. He has 
laughed a good deal about Bunny's exit. 

We went to the lake, in accordance with the 
old boy's wish. He had taken with him the little 
vessel that his Uncle Nat made for him, long ago, 
and which since yesterday has been his favorite 
plaything. He launched it upon the lake, and it 
looked very like a real sloop, tossing up and do\vn 
on the swelling waves. I believe he would very 
contentedly have spent a hundred years, or so, 
with no other amusement than this. I, meanwhile, 
took the " National Era " from my pocket, and 
gave it a pretty attentive perusal. I have before 
now experienced that the best way to get a vivid 
impression and feeling of a landscape is to sit 
down before it and read, or become otherwise ab- 
sorbed in thought ; for then, when j^our eyes hap- 

[84] 



JULIAN AND BUNNY 

pen to be attracted to the landscape, you seem to 
catch Nature at unawares, and see her before she 
has time to change her aspect. The effect lasts 
but for a single instant, and passes away almost 
as soon as you are conscious of it ; but it is real for 
that moment. It is as if you could overhear and 
understand what the trees are whispering to one 
another ; as if you caught a glimpse of a face un- 
veiled, which veils itself from every wilful glance. 
The mystery is revealed, and, after a breath or 
two, becomes just as much a mystery as before. 
I caught one such glimpse, this afternoon, though 
not so perfectly as sometimes. It was half -past 
twelve when we got back. 

I forgot to say that I left a note for Mr. Steele, 
at the Post Office, requesting him to wait in Pitts- 
field for Phoebe. If she does not come to-day, — 
well, I do not know what I shall do. 

It is nearly six by the clock, and they do not 
come ! Surely they must, must, must be here to- 
night! 

Within a quarter of an hour after writing the 
above, they have come— all well! Thank God! 



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DEC 12 1904 




LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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